


Occupational Hazards

by Not_You



Series: one only understands the things that one tames [13]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Budapest, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:38:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a dom can be pretty rough sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occupational Hazards

Natasha does not belong to Phil. He isn’t even her handler, but he checks up on her and brings her lunch and talks over all her missions with Sitwell, because there is no way he can’t care. As the months roll by she settles in, and Phil gets more and more used to the home visits that are part of confirming Clint’s place with him. They see a lot more of Tamika and Andrea, who seem to have adopted their case. Finally, it seems to be coming to an end, and though Phil will actually rather miss their favorite Submissive Protective Services ladies, he won’t miss his personal life being poked at.

Tonight he’s alone in the house, and it’s a clear chance to pull the collar out of his closet and brood over it like a dragon with treasure. He can’t help himself and doesn’t worry about it much, because almost every dom gets like this. He holds the thing in his lap and strokes the butter-soft leather with loving fingertips. It’s a deep, midnight purple, a custom color that Phil has had to do some long searching for. The shade is perfect now, full of richness and mystery, subtle and luxurious and wonderful. There were a few spots that were less than perfectly smooth, but Phil has worked them over and over with mineral oil, and now the whole collar is like silk. He sighs, looking at the dull silver buckle, the metal brushed to take down its shine, so Clint won’t have to take it off for work. There is no ring in the front, just a small housing in the leather for a detachable plate, again in deference to Clint’s professional needs. Phil smiles, and presses a kiss to the inside, just behind the housing in the front. He nuzzles it for just a moment, imagining Clint’s scent with the smell of the leather, and puts it back in the box, curled but not buckled. 

The basic test runs done, Phil won’t buckle it again until it goes around Clint’s neck for the first time. After that, Phil wants it to never come off again, but is willing to make allowances for bathing and neck zits and all the other encumbrances of life. He’s going to make the same allowances for the ring, a quiet band of the same dulled silver, with a chip of deep purple stone. Some doms don’t wear them, feeling some kind of threat to their authority. In Phil’s humble opinion, these people are assholes. He belongs to Clint as surely as Clint belongs to him, and he believes in showing it.

Phil puts everything away, and a wave of longing washes over him. He never wants to push Clint, but he should have offered Clint the collar before this mission. Phil has been fucking around too long on this, and since any mission could take Clint from him, this one could. And if it does, Phil will never forgive himself for letting Clint die without his collar. He shudders, and goes to the basement to attack the heavy bag until he can forget everything, his knuckles sore and his chest heaving. He manages to sleep that night, but his dreams are uneasy, and he goes into the office the next day feeling like he had a bag of cement for breakfast instead of his usual granola. 

Then again, it had tasted a lot like cement without Clint around to make cracks about old men needing to stay regular or call him a filthy hippie. Phil tries not to drag himself around too obviously, but Fury stops in during his lunch break and lectures him for being so whipped before telling him that he’s been moved to monitoring Clint, since he won’t be thinking of much else anyway, now that the situation has gotten hairier. Phil’s blood turns to ice for a moment, but he just says, “Thanks, Nick,” and throws away his trash. Fury has known him too long not to see through it, though, and pats his shoulder, which from Fury is practically a loving kiss on the mouth.

It’s good to be able to keep better tabs on Clint, even as the situation gets worse and worse. Clint and Natasha have been double-crossed, sold out, and had their cover blown at every turn, in a way that makes Phil sure they have a leak somewhere. It’s maddening to be so unsure about where that leak might be, with his sub miles away and suffering for it. Thinking about Natasha just makes it worse, and he hopes they can at least stick together. Fretting over two agents in trouble and two subs who are personally dear to him is even more wearing than he would have expected, as he feels compelled to take longer and longer shifts, waiting days a time for a call from Clint, letting him know with code words that he and Natasha are still alive, still together, and still in trouble. It’s the worst kind of monotonous, and he’s starting to nod one night and about to go tag someone else in when Clint speaks to him.

“Hey, boss?”

Phil snaps to attention, one hand going to hold the earpiece in place. “Hawk?”

“Uh, I think we can come home now.”

“Where are you?”

They have somehow ended up in Budapest of all fucking places, and Phil arranges transport and demands an explanation at the same time. He doesn’t actually _get_ one until they come back and he’s sitting in on the debriefing, though. They both look like hell, dirty and tired and with bandaged wounds, and he has to sit on his hands while Natasha explains about a bolthole from her Red Room days, and about the untimely demise of an assailant in a dark alley who turned out to be what would be called ‘a disgruntled former employee’ in any other line of work. The leak partially explained, Clint and Natasha are finally free to go. They’re holding hands again, and Phil doesn’t even think about it. He takes them both home.

In the car Natasha doesn’t say a word, and Clint doesn’t either, exhausted. They both follow Phil into the house, and let him lead them into the bathroom, where he sits Natasha on the closed toilet and Clint on the edge of the bathtub. They’re silent and cooperative as he washes and dresses their cuts and scrapes, and he kisses them both on the forehead, softly telling them to wash up and then to join him in his room. He trusts Clint to explain away any misapprehensions of Natasha’s, and makes the bed with fresh sheets and nurse’s corners. He turns the bedclothes down and undresses down to his Captain America boxers and climbs in. Phil isn’t sure if he’ll be able to sleep or not, too jangled with caffeine and worry, but lying down with his eyes closed and listening to the water run is good. He slips into a doze, waking again as the door opens.

“Napping on the job, master?” Clint coos, sliding in beside him.

“Absolutely.” Phil is assuming Natasha will follow behind Clint, but she goes around to the other side of Phil.

“Is this okay, sir?” She asks softly, poised with a corner of the blankets in one hand.

“Yes, dear,” Phil says, and gestures for her to join them. They both snuggle close to Phil, clinging and nuzzling their faces against him. Lonely subs always go straight to Phil’s heart, and he slides an arm around each of them, wanting them to know that he’s here, that he’ll take care of them. They make small and happy noises, joining hands across him as they drift into a deep and trusting sleep.


End file.
